Harriet Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
by Cillit Bang Bang
Summary: Fem!Harry (Harriet). Let's shake up the starting conditions a little and see how far we can feasibly diverge from canon. That's all I'll say 'cause spoilers.
1. Magic Letters, Magic Visits

**Magic Letters, Magic Visits**

Harriet stirred her cereal bowl, radiating moodiness, though Uncle Vernon seemed uncharacteristically unaware of this, and was evidently disinclined to follow his usual routine of shouting at Harriet for 'Ruining our Sunday', thereby making it better for her cousin Dudley, who found Harriet being shouted at to be nothing short of _hilarious_. Dudley seemed disappointed by this most peculiar development - the hardships of the past few days (Losing his second bedroom, being shouted at almost as if he was Harriet, and of course his sheer jealousy over the letters that kept being sent to Harriet - not that he knew _why_ she was getting them, but she was clearly getting more attention than him, and that was _so_ not fair) were taking their toll on the vaguely muffin-shaped boy.

Really, for all practical intends and purposes, Harriet's life with her aunt, uncle and cousin had definitely turned for the better over the past few days. For some reason Harriet couldn't fathom, the arrival of the first letter had prompted her aunt and uncle to move her bedroom from the cupboard under the stairs to Dudley's (Now former) second bedroom, and seemed to almost have inspired _fear_ in them - or at least a healthy dose of paranoia, judging by Uncle Vernon's newly developed habit of sleeping on the floor before the front door to intercept any unwelcome mail and, for that matter, Harriet's attempts to get her hands on one of the letters.

The latter being, of course, why Harriet was far moodier than she should've been, given her new bedroom and the relative lack of shouting at her by her aunt and uncle. A letter that did _this_ to what she had considerable difficulties thinking of as her family, almost as if by magic - she just _had_ to read it. Or one of the many, many letters that'd followed it. Those would do, too.

And besides, they were addressed to her in the first place.

Harriet was interrupted in her stirring by Uncle Vernon starting to speak, sounding almost happy. "No post on Sundays," he reminded everyone as he spread marmalade on his TV Guide, though Aunt Petunia looked less than convinced. "No damn letters today-"

There was a whizzing noise coming down the kitchen chimney that made Harriet think of Santa Claus, and then Uncle Vernon was hit sharply on the back of his head by a letter, quickly followed by another three dozen flying out of the fireplace and forcing everyone to duck. Everyone but Harriet, that is, since she'd immediately leapt out of her seat, trying to catch one-

"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon shouted, grabbing Harriet by her wrist and throwing her out of the kitchen, quickly followed by Aunt Petunia and Dudley trying to get out of the letters' line of fire, and Aunt Petunia shrieking about the threat the letters posed to her African violets. Finally, Vernon came out, slammed the door shut, and turned towards them, face red and moustache quivering in rhythm with the whooshing sounds the blizzard of letters was making in the kitchen.

"That does it," he said, trying and failing to sound calm and composed. Or as calm and composed as a Vernon Dursley could, anyway. _Effort counts, too_, Harriet thought, simultaneously frustrated because she'd once again failed to acquire _her_ letter, and amused because her uncle was clearly taking the situation much worse than she was.

Thank God for small favours.

"I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave," Uncle Vernon continued, to Aunt Petunia's and especially Dudley's dismay. "We're going away. Just pack some clothes. NO ARGUMENTS!" he shouted, pre-empting Dudley, who seemed ready to argue - he wouldn't be able to take his brand-new Sega with him.

Five minutes later, Harriet had packed as many of her third-hand clothes as she could, looked carefully away when Uncle Vernon gave her a look of pure loathing - it looked like the days of less shouting would be over soon -, and was ready to leave the house when the door bell rang.

For a long, a very long moment, nobody moved. Aunt Petunia looked close to fainting, Uncle Vernon was caught somewhere between a temper tantrum and a panic attack, and Dudley was staring at everyone, looking confused, and debating whether he could use the delay to pack his Mega Drive after all. For her part, Harriet looked just as confused as Dudley, though not actually owning anything more than her third-hand clothes and a few of Dudley's throwaway toys that she was disinclined to let the Dursleys know about, she wasn't anywhere near as keen to go back upstairs and packing more things.

The door bell rang again, and with what looked like a great deal of effort, Uncle Vernon stepped forward and opened it.

Outside stood a stern looking woman who looked to be in her 50s, and was wearing the most ridiculous hat Harriet had ever seen. She'd have laughed, if it hadn't been for the look of thorough displeasure on her face as she gazed at Uncle Vernon, and eventually raised her eyebrows as she glanced at the rest of them and the trunks they were holding.

"Whoever you are, go away, we're about to leave!" shouted Uncle Vernon, while Aunt Petunia winced. Dudley just stared at the woman's weird, pointy hat.

"That explains rather a lot," the woman answered, without showing any sign of moving aside and letting Uncle Vernon walk past her. Harriet was impressed - most people were intimidated by Uncle Vernon's outbursts. "I'm Professor McGonagall from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and we've been wondering why we didn't receive any answer to our letters from Miss Potter-"

"YOU. FREAK! GET OUT OF THE WAY! WE'LL NOT HAVE THIS! THE GIRL WILL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU FREAKS!"

The colour of Vernon Dursley's face was quickly approaching that of ripe cherries, but the woman - Professor McGonagall, Harriet reminded herself - seemed rather unperturbed by this, and simply continued, while Aunt Petunia whispered something about 'The Neighbors' and 'Please not here' and _'Not so loud!_'

"I imagine that this is Miss Potter's choice, not yours, Mr. Dursley."

Uncle Vernon looked like he wanted to continue his shouting, but Harriet used this moment to pipe up. "Hogwarts?" she asked, only to shrink away again as she noticed Aunt Petunia glaring at her in a fashion even Harriet hadn't seen before - that was no longer her usual dislike, but utter loathing and hatred. She was almost surprised she didn't drop dead just from the look she was receiving from her Aunt.

Professor McGonagall's look wasn't much kinder, but fortunately, it wasn't targeted at Harriet, but rather at her Aunt and Uncle. "Am I right in assuming that you never told Miss Potter anything?" she asked in a voice chillier than the Dursley's sizable freezer.

Aunt Petunia replied to this by shrinking away just like Harriet had before. Uncle Vernon on the other hand, took it as an invitation to continue his shouting. "Of course we didn't! We've been trying to raise Harriet to be a _normal_, a _decent_ human being, not a _freak_! And you'll not ruin our efforts, not after we already sacrificed so much for her! Bad enough that you left her on our doorsteps in the first place, but you want to make her a freak like yourself? Not with us! Not with Vernon Durs-"

"..."

"...!"

Professor McGonagall gave Uncle Vernon a very, very thin-lipped smile, and Harriet noticed that the Professor's right hand had moved into one of her robe's pockets. "Yes, I can see how much you've sacrificed for Miss Potter, Mr. Dursley. I've read the address on the first letter we sent. Now, I strongly suggest we go inside and discuss the matters at hand. I may even allow you to partake in this if you're willing to have conversations at a more civilised volume."

* * *

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

Harriet read over the letter again, not entirely certain whether she should be confused or elated. Or scared. Maybe this was a ruse by her Aunt and Uncle to- But no. While she trusted her Uncle's willingness to crush her spirits just fine, she sincerely doubted his ability to plot such an elaborate scheme to do so. Never mind a scheme that'd involve him staying quiet for an extended amount of time to pretend that a witch had taken his voice away.

No, that'd be a deal breaker.

"So..." she finally said, looking up uncertainly at Professor McGonagall's now somewhat softened expression. "Is this... Is this... True?"

"Of course. You're the daughter of the late James and Lily Potter, a highly accomplished wizard and witch. I knew them personally, actually - not just as a teacher, but as a friend. Their murder was a tragedy."

McGonagall didn't seem like the kind of person who easily started to cry, and indeed, remained entirely composed throughout this sentence. Harriet didn't actually notice this particular aspect, though. There was something more important than Professor McGonagall's emotions to consider.

"Their... Their murder? But I thought it was a car accident... Drunk driving...?!"

It was evident that Aunt Petunia wished to just be swallowed by the couch as McGonagall's fixed her eyes on her. "It wasn't, Harriet," she finally said, all kindness evaporated as she continued to look coldly at Aunt Petunia, who was becoming increasingly interested in her fingernails. "And I'm beginning to doubt whether it's a good idea to give Mr Dursley his speech back after this conversation."

"...!"

Aunt Petunia said nothing.

"... Ok." Harriet said finally, after a long moment of digesting this newfound information - 'My Aunt and Uncle are disgusting liars who have spent the past ten years baselessly insulting my parents' - and somehow managing to remain calm. "But how do you know _I'm_ magic? I've never-"

It was the first time since meeting her less than twenty minutes ago that Harriet had seen McGonagall give a genuine, warm smile. "Are you sure, Miss Potter? Can't you think of any... Strange occurrences in the past few years that just don't make sense, yet keep happening?"

"Well..." Now that she thought about it... there'd been her favourite third-hand skirt that'd kept adjusting its size for the past three years, which her aunt and uncle had kept complaining about despite it actually saving them money, which Harriet had thought they'd approve of. And for some reason she was the only girl she knew - not that she knew many - who never needed to go to the hairdresser, her red hair having a curious tendency to maintain shoulder length indefinitely. And then, of course, the incident with the boa constrictor a month ago. "... I guess there are some..."

"There you go," Professor McGonagall said kindly. "Now, I'm afraid this is our fault - we didn't realise that your Aunt and Uncle had kept _everything_ from you, particularly since Mrs Dursley knows perfectly well how to acquire your first-year school supplies, else I'd have personally delivered the first letter just like I do for muggleborns - the Grangers live in London, actually, could've brought you along -, but since I doubt your Aunt and Uncle's willingness to accompany you to Diagon Alley and behave, I suggest that I take you there so we can get you everything you need." She paused for a moment, her expression once again betraying a hint of kindness. "Assuming, of course, that you do want to go to Hogwarts."

Harriet felt a little lost. She wasn't entirely clear on what most of these things meant - 'Diagon Alley', 'Grangers', 'Muggleborns' -, but given the choice between living with the Dursleys and going to Stonewall High, or, well, _not_...

"I... Of course I want to! But..." she hesitated for a moment, not sure how to say it. Professor McGonagall hadn't been unkind, but her posture and conduct still radiated 'Do not mess with!', rather like her former math teacher, Mrs Collins.

"Yes?" inquired the Professor.

"Could you... Couldyoudomagicjustsoicanseeitonce?"

Aunt Petunia shivered.

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Of course." And with a wave of her wand, one of Aunt Petunia's priced garden crotons turned into a rather pretty assortment of white lilies.

Dudley gaped.

Aunt Petunia shrieked.

Uncle Vernon tried unsuccessfully to grunt, then fell back on his armchair in frustration.

And Harriet Lily Potter beamed. "Let's go!"

* * *

**A/N:** I know. The name isn't exactly original. Neither, of course, is the concept. Still giving it a shot. Let's see how far we can feasibly deviate from canon over time by shaking the starting conditions up a bit.

McGonagall shows up before 31 July on account of reading the address on the first letter. She figured something was off, though she gave the Dursleys a chance to shape up. They didn't. Not sufficiently so, anyway.

Any and all HP lines, characters, concepts and trademarks borrowed for the purpose of this _flattering homage to the original_ are, obviously, not my own.


	2. Sunday Morning Shopping Spree

**Sunday Morning Shopping Spree**

Getting to London by train was taking them some forty minutes, during which Professor McGonagall did her best to answer Harriet's growing tide of questions ('What are muggles?' - 'How will I pay for my school supplies?' - 'Do we _have_ to wear weird hats like yours?' - 'Did you _have_ to give Uncle Vernon his voice back?') in between noting that British Railways wasn't what it used to be anymore, either. Harriet was somewhat taken aback by the notion of a witch using the train - particularly since her letter had explicitly mentioned brooms -, but decided not to question it.

A short way from the station, they came along a somewhat grubby-looking pub called the 'Leaky Cauldron', right in between two much more glamorously looking book- and record shops, and thoroughly ignored by the passers-by's. Which notably, didn't include Professor McGonagall and Harriet, as the former ushered the latter into it.

Harriet was greeted by the sight of maybe half a dozen people spread throughout the pub. A couple women were having a chat in one corner, and a tiny man wearing a purple top hat (So maybe the hats didn't have to be pointy, just weird?) was talking to the barman.

"Afternoon, Professor," the barman said, starting to rummage under the counter and producing a bottle of Loch Lomond, only to put it away again at the sight of McGonagall shaking her head. "Not before evening. You know me, Tom."

Tom nodded. "Bit late to give muggleborns their tour, though, isn't it?" Then he turned his gaze towards Harriet. "And who are you?" he asked rather more kindly than he'd initially looked to Harriet.

"Um, I'm Har-"

"Good Lord..." the barman said, before Harriet had even finished. "Can it be...?"

The couple in the corner had stopped chatting, and the little man with the purple top hat looked curiously at Harriet, curiosity turning into astonishment, astonishment turning into excitement.

"You're Harriet... Harriet Potter, aren't you?!"

Harriet nodded mutely, a little bit creeped out by the little - if still taller than her. But she was still a few days from her eleventh birthday, of course - man.

"Delighted, Miss Potter, just can't tell you how delighted I am! Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle!"

"I..." Harriet was looking worriedly at the other people in the Leaky Cauldron, who had all stood up and were now walking closer to her, curiosity, astonishment and excitement radiating from every single one of them. "I think I remember you, actually. Didn't you once, err, bow to me in the mall?"

"She remembers! She remembers me!" the little man cried.

_Well, maybe not creepy, but definitely weird,_ Harriet thought, while her hands were subjected to an avalanche of shaking as everyone was now surrounding her and babbling excitedly. Why, Harriet didn't know - but it definitely worried her. _What the hell is going on?_

She definitely had a few more questions for Professor McGonagall, now.

Speaking of the Professor, she was now determinedly getting people to stop their attempt at suffocating Harriet on her first trip into the magical world. "She's still a _girl_, Mrs Crockford, and she still needs to get her school supplies."

"Ah, of course... My apologies."

Finally, they made it out the backdoor, and Harriet looked at Professor McGonagall with an odd mixture of anxiety and incredulity. "What was _that_ all about?"

McGonagall sighed. "It's... Complicated, and will take some time to explain. But I suppose it is better to give you a quick summary now, rather than you reading about yourself in the history books without forewarning."

"_History books_?!" Something was definitely off here. She wasn't even eleven years old yet and hadn't lived in the magical world, well, ever, as far as she could remember. How could she possibly turn up in its history books?"

"You see..." McGonagall hesitated, clearly troubled by what she was about to next. "Your parents were murdered by a dark wizard while they were trying to protect you."

Harriet swallowed.

"You were his next victim. He tried to kill you when you were just one year old, but the curse he used on you rebounded, and killed him instead. This ended the war that'd been waged for almost a decade by then, and saved the wizarding world. You're widely considered the saviour of our world. The attack on you also gave you your scar - that's how Tom and Mr Diggle were able to recognise you. Its lightning shape is mentioned in every book on wizarding history in the 20th century."

Harriet stared.

_Dear Lord..._

* * *

Entering Diagon Alley should've been a moment filled with wonder and amazement, a memory to treasure. Of course, thanks to the revelation of who had killed Harriet's parents, how she'd acquired her scar, and how said scar and the murder of her parents apparently made her the wizarding equivalent of a rock star, the moment was instead rather sullen, and Harriet paid little attention to the shops filled with strange sweets and bat spleens, eel eyes and brooms, robes and cauldrons as Professor McGonagall led her to Gringotts - she'd already explained to her on the train that she'd inherited sufficient funds to pay for her tuition and school supplies without having to rely on her 'Family'.

The Goblins were just a little shorter than Harriet, and blessed with much, much larger noses, though Harriet knew better than to point this out. A short and rather scary trip by minecart later (Professor McGonagall noted that she was getting 'Too old for this'), Harriet's sullenness was replaced by outright shock.

"What? That can't be... That's..."

"I dare saying that it'll suffice for all your needs during your time at Hogwarts," McGonagall noted dryly. Harriet nodded, feeling that she should by all rights have been blinded by the gleaming gold and silver in her vault. Then she started putting some of it in a bag McGonagall was kindly lending her for this purpose.

* * *

"And now?" Harriet asked as they left Gringotts and stood in the light of the midday sun.

"I do believe we should get you your robes. Follow me."

A minute or two later, they arrived at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Ah, Professor, I didn't expect you!" a plump, friendly looking witch said, welcoming them. "A bit late for a muggleborn, isn't it? I guess her parents took their time to warm up to the idea?"

"Ah, no..." Harriet said, who was beginning to suspect that this kind of guess was going to follow her around for the duration of their shopping. "Not quite."

"Really? Oh well. So Hogwarts it is, then? Well, come here, I'm just finishing up Miss Parkinson here-"

Harriet was stepping on the footstool Madam Malkin had indicated and looked at the girl next to her, who seemed rather disenchanted with Madam Malkin's efforts to fit her one of those weird, pointy hats. "Nobody wears those anymore!" she complained, giving a pointed look in McGonagall's direction, who was wearing just that kind of hat. "Well, _almost_ no-one, I guess."

Harriet was a bit taken aback by the girl's attitude, but couldn't help a little giggle, anyway.

"And yet, those 'Weird Hats' as Harriet put it earlier today, are nonetheless part of the school uniform." McGonagall replied with a tone of determined authority.

"You did say they're not mandatory to wear, though." Harriet pointed out while Madam Malkin's assistant took her measures, and waved her wand in the general direction of some garments that promptly floated over and began to force themselves onto Harriet.

"Precisely!" the other girl said, and paused in her fidgeting with her robes to take a look at Harriet, her expression darkening, though Harriet had no idea why. Maybe her third-hand skirt and shirt gave the wrong impression...? The girl definitely radiated the kind of attitude Harriet knew from, well... Dudley. The attitude of someone who was used to getting everything they wanted, and quickly at that. "Ah, I see why you're coming with a Professor..."

_What on Earth was that supposed to mean?_

"There you go, all done, dear." Madam Malkin interrupted them, and let the Parkinson girl step from the footstool.

"Finally. But Hogwarts really should allow more high-class wear. Would keep the rabble out, too." The girl sighed, and finally left, leaving behind a Harriet who was frantically hoping that not all wizards and witches were like, well... That.

* * *

Buying the school books took only a moment, though Harriet added 'Modern Magical History' at McGonagall's suggestion so she could read up on recent events and get a first look at wizarding culture, and Harriet would've _loved_ to add 'Curses and Counter-Curses' to her reading material, but a stern look from her future Professor convinced Harriet that buying it was maybe not the best of ideas.

Or at least, buying it while McGonagall was looking over her shoulder wasn't.

Then they acquired a cauldron, crystal vials, scales and a telescope, and followed it up with truly staggering amounts of remarkably disgusting items found in the apothecary, disgusting enough for Harriet to wonder whether something's ickyness was related to how effective it was as a potions ingredient. And if yes, just how many potions one could make out of one Dudley Dursley.

The idea probably merited further research.

Harriet wasn't entirely sure why she should get an owl, even after Professor McGonagall had explained to her that they served as the wizarding world's postal service - Harriet didn't think it very likely that she'd be writing her Aunt on a regular basis or, for that matter, at all -, but then again, having a pet would probably be pretty nice even if it wasn't a cat, and thus she ended up carrying a rather beautiful snowy owl before finally, at long last, and far later than Harriet would've liked, they entered Ollivander's, which had apparently been around since before Alexander the Great. Harriet briefly entertained fantasies of Alexander-the-Archmage, duelling the Dark Wizard Darius III with an Ollivander-made wand to win the heart of Roxana.

Though Roxana hadn't exactly been depicted in a flattering light in the books she'd found in her school library. Hm. Scratch that.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice that was seemingly coming out of nowhere inside the dark, dusty shop, making Harriet jump.

This, of course, was only the beginning of what was, astonishingly, by far the weirdest and scariest conversation she had this day.

* * *

**A/N:** Kinda boring-ish, I guess, largely just retreading old ground, though I rather like my Pansy. Not sure what I'm going to do with her yet - I'm not necessarily looking for always-and-forever antagonists. We'll see.


	3. Magical Choo Choo

**Magical Choo ****Choo**

"Goodbye, Uncle Vernon!" Harriet shouted cheerily as she made her way to platform nine and three-quarters - it amused her to watch him cringe. Ever since Professor McGonagall had cast what Harriet now knew was a silencing charm on him, he'd been refraining from shouting at Harriet - or, for that matter, from talking to her more than absolutely necessary, once the charm had been removed again. Which suited Harriet just fine.

Aunt Petunia had taken it rather less well - when Harriet had returned from Diagon Alley, she'd noticed that Aunt Petunia's garden-crotons-cum-lilies had apparently landed in the trash as soon as she and Professor McGonagall had been out of sight, complete with vase and the little table it'd stood on. And Aunt Petunia hadn't even been the one who'd had a silencing charm cast on her.

But in the end, Aunt Petunia, too, refrained from talking to Harriet more than absolutely necessary, and for that matter, had decided to take over all of Harriet's previous chores so as to make sure that Harriet had no reason to leave her room other than for the remarkably awkward breakfasts and dinners.

Strangely enough, the only exception to this seemed to be Dudley. While he hadn't dared to actually enter Harriet's room more often than once (Only to end up with a half-hour scolding from Vernon and Petunia, telling him to stay away from 'That Thing'), and generally refrained from actually approaching her, he'd kept shooting her curious glances when he wasn't out with Piers and beating up younger boys or snatching cigarettes from the local corner shop. It scared Harriet a bit, and she really wished Professor McGonagall had allowed her to buy _Curses and Counter-Curses_, just to be on the safe side.

For her part, Harriet had happily obliged her Aunt and Uncle's unspoken wishes and stuck to her room, looking briefly into _Magical Theory_ before discarding it as being drier than the Sahara, experimenting a bit with transfiguration before giving up, being thoroughly fascinated by the variety of magical flora apparently in existence as well as by its uses in potions (Which she knew from a children's book she'd read at school years ago were something witches did a lot), and trying out a few charms - her Aunt and Uncle had been utterly disgusted the day she'd kept wearing a permanent smile because she'd successfully levitated a piece of paper half an inch over her desk.

But now, of course, the time of blissful being-left-alone was over, to be replaced by an even more blissful no-Dursleys-in-sight for the next ten months. Professor McGonagall had explained everything to her - she went into a run, closed her eyes... And paused for a long, long moment to take in the sight of the steaming, scarlet engine, the crowd milling on the platform, the screeching of owls, the shouts and chatter of parents and children, the excited look on the face of a boy who looked to be about Harriet's age, the bewilderment and yet almost childish joy of discovery expressed by his remarkably un-wizardly looking father, and the rather more critical expression coming from his mother.

_My new world._

Eventually, she started to make her way through the crowd, looking for a free compartment. It wasn't hard to find - she was definitely early -, but getting her very large and very heavy trunk onto the train turned out to be a bit of a challenge.

"Can we help you?" asked a sympathetic voice from behind Harriet, and she put down her trunk to look around, where a rather friendly-looking pair of adults and a girl who seemed unable to decide whether she was super excited or the most serious person on the entire platform were standing.

"Um... Yes, that'd be very nice, Mrs...?"

"Not a problem. And it's Granger."

"Thank you, Mrs Granger."

Together, they eventually heaved first Harriet's, and then the couple's daughter's - Hermione's - trunk onto the train. Mrs Granger spent a moment asking where Harriet's parents were, and Harriet answered rather noncommittally that they were busy, which earned her a frown from Hermione.

Then they were inside.

"Why didn't you tell Mum the truth?"

It was Harriet's turn to frown. "What do you-?"

"I've read about you. You're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. Everyone knows your-"

She stopped, seeing the frown in Harriet's face turn into something she would've recognised as a rather good approximation of Uncle Vernon's anger face, had Harriet been able to see it in a mirror.

"I'm sure it's really, really entertaining for you to meet history in person, and I'm sure you're really, really proud you could identify me from staring at my scar like I'm a particularly interesting zoo animal, and I'm sure it's really, really, _really_ exciting for you to see the evidence that my parents were _murdered_ ten years ago right in front of you, _etched into their child's face_, and you probably want to talk about that _historical night_ for hours on end because it's so _super exciting_ for you, but, and this may surprise you, _I don't actually find it fun when people do this._"

Hermione stayed silent for a minute, then sat down and, looking anywhere she could that wasn't Harriet, whispered "I'm sorry."

Harriet refrained from saying anything more.

It did take a while for the train to fill up, though their compartment was mostly left alone until a round-faced and rather nervous-looking boy entered. "Um... Are those seats still free..." His voice trailed off as he looked at Harriet and Hermione. "I... I guess not. I'm sorry..."

"Wait!" shouted Hermione, just before the boy closed the compartment door. "No, they're free, you're welcome."

"Oh... Thank you."

A few very long, very awkward moments followed, when the boy tried to navigate his trunk into the compartment, helped by both, Harriet and Hermione, though both were quite keen to avoid each other's eyes, which didn't exactly help when it came to navigating very large and very heavy trunks about. Eventually however, and against the considerable resistance the moving train put up against the notion of people being able to stand and move their luggage around, success was achieved.

"I'm Neville," the boy finally said, after sitting down. "And this is Tre- NO! Trevor, stay here!"

Harriet deftly closed the compartment door, trapping the toad inside. Neville looked grateful. "Th- Thanks. That's Trevor. My toad. I got him from my Great-Uncle when it turned out that I really am magical. My family feared I was a squib, you see."

"Squib?" asked Harriet, interestedly.

"Squib. Oh... You must be muggleborn? Squibs are wizard children without magic. I never displayed signs of magic until Algie - my Great-Uncle - let me go while holding me out of a window and I bounced up again. Everyone was so happy and he got me Trevor."

Hermione had listened, looking increasingly alarmed, and Harriet could see why. She clearly wasn't the only one with a family fond of questionable parenting methods. "Err. That's great, I guess." she finally replied uncertainly, and spotted Hermione nodding equally uncertainly in the corner of her eye.

"So who are you?" asked Neville, and Harriet couldn't help being secretly pleased that at least _one_ person couldn't tell who she was just by looking at the scar on her forehead.

"I'm Harriet," she replied. "Pleased to meet you."

"I'm Herm-"

The compartment door slid open again, and Harriet was barely fast enough to catch Trevor before he made another bid for freedom. A slim, blonde-haired boy stood at the entrance, accompanied the Parkinson girl Harriet remembered from Madam Malkin's a month ago.

"I heard Harriet Potter is on this train. This wouldn't happen to be any of you, would it?" the blonde boy asked in a tone indicating that he wouldn't take 'No' for an answer.

"Err-"

The Parkinson girl looked briefly at Harriet. "... No, she's the mudblood I saw at Madam Malkin's."

Neville started to splutter. "H- Hey, you can't use language like that-"

"Sure I can."

"Wait a moment..." The blonde boy was now looking more closely at Harriet, who tried to shrink into her seat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. "That scar... You _are _Harriet Potter, aren't you?"

"So what if she is?"

The blonde boy looked up and glanced disdainfully at Hermione. "You were saying?"

"I'm saying that it is incredibly _rude_ of you to stare at people and look for celebrities as if they're zoo animals. Ever heard of manners? Or of introducing yourself first, and preferably _politely_?"

The blonde boy gave Hermione the most insincere smile Harriet had seen since Uncle Vernon had been forced to take her to a birthday party in second grade, when the others girls in her class hadn't yet known that they couldn't visit her and that she had too many chores to visit them, either, cutting off all the tentative friendships she'd developed in her first two years at school. "Very well. I'm _Draco Malfoy_, heir to the _Malfoy family_. And you are...?"

"Hermione Granger. But I've read about your family. It features quite prominently in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. Didn't your father get acquitted of being a Death Eater despite carrying the Dark Mark on account of pleading Imperius? Curiously coinciding with a number of Wizengamot members finding out that their Gringotts debts had been spontaneously paid for by a generous donor, if the author is to be believed."

Draco stared at Hermione for a moment. So did the Parkinson girl.

"Pansy, we're leaving."

The compartment door slid shut again, and Harriet smirked at Hermione. "Wasn't that a little hypocritical of you?"

"I learned my lesson. And I said I was sorry."

Harriet nodded. "That you did."

* * *

The train travelled for hours, during which Harriet, Hermione and Neville got to know each other a little more, acquired sweets ("My parents would kill me!" Hermione explained at the sight of the sweets, but eventually relented and ate some after Harriet pointed out that no matter how many dentists she counted among her parents, none of them were exactly nearby. Neville, of course, had no such compunctions), and engaged in a little bit of mutual culture shock ("The pictures on the chocolate frog cards move!" - "Well, of course. Don't yours?" - "No." - "_Creepy!_").

Eventually, they started to talk about Hogwarts.

"Do either of you know what house you'll be in?" Hermione asked. "I've been reading about them in _Hogwarts: A History_ and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, either."

"What makes Gryffindor the best?" asked Harriet, now curious. She'd read up on recent history, but Hogwarts' house system was entirely new to her, although there'd been some scattered references to 'Gryffindors' and 'Slytherins' in _Modern Magical History_, which she supposed had something to do with what Hermione had just said.

"Oh, just its whole history. It's supposed to be for the brave and bold. People who really want to make an impact for the betterment of everything. And the current headmaster is a Gryffindor, too. Actually, let me show you..." Hermione actually managed to keep silent for a few moments as she stood up from her seat and reached for her trunk, starting to rummage through it while trying not to have her vision obstructed by her long, bushy hair. "Now where is this book..."

Neville looked at her uncertainly, and then started to look through the chocolate frog cards he'd deposited next to his seat. "Actually, Hermione... Hermione, I got it!"

Hermione turned around. "You got the book?" she asked, then frowned when she saw Dumbledore's chocolate frog card in Neville's hand, her headmaster waving cheerily at her from the picture. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" Neville asked apologetically, while Harriet decided to be proactive, and snatched the card from his hand and read:

_Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts._

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

"I see..." said Harriet eventually, after Hermione was over her huff and stopped talking about how they should use resources a _little_ more advanced than _chocolate frog cards_. "Actually, why would someone like that be a mere headmaster?"

Hermione's huff returned with a vengeance. "He's not simply a _mere headmaster_. He's the headmaster of _Hogwarts_, the most reputable magic school in the world. And education is obviously very important to him, so he serves as a brilliant example for all of us!"

Harriet raised her eyebrows, while Neville just looked at Hermione in awe, though Harriet suspected it was more Hermione's ability to be so passionate about school that impressed him than her actual argument. Hermione looked exasperated, and eventually resolved to sit down and cross her arms over her chest. "You'll see."

Harriet decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. "And you, Neville?"

"I, uh... Hufflepuff would be really nice, I think." He nervously eyed Hermione, as if afraid that she'd laugh at him any minute now, though much to Hermione's credit, she didn't, and instead simply nodded at him. "Good luck. It definitely isn't a bad house - I think their values are well worth it."

"Thanks. And, um, you, Harriet?"

"I don't know... I think any would be fine."

"Except Slytherin, you mean."

"Huh?" Harriet looked at Hermione in surprise. After what she'd just told Neville, she'd thought Hermione would see something positive in every house, even if she preferred Gryffindor.

"It's the house where most dark wizards come from, and it hates people like me - you know, wizards and witches with no magical parents. Muggleborns. You-Know-Who, you know, the one who-"

"I know."

"Err, yes." Hermione looked faintly embarrassed. "Anyway, he came from there, too. Definitely not the house anyone should want to be in."

Harriet nodded, though she was mildly disturbed that Hermione would be so judgemental when they had yet to actually meet a Slytherin. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Anyway, it's getting dark, and we should be arriving soon. Best to get changed, I think."

And that they did.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm going to assume that I'm not spoiling anything when I say that the trio's probably being established here, chiefly on account of it being blatantly obvious.

Which brings us to the one obviously missing from the trio - Ron. And I wish to clear up any misconceptions the reader might harbour with regards to Ron's character and future role in this AU.

Canonically, Ron, in the first three books, is a badass. He's the quintessential Gryffindor who happily sacrifices himself on the chess board without knowing how severe the consequences will be, who overcomes his phobia and walks into an army of giant spiders to help Hagrid, and who - with a broken leg - walks up and puts himself in front of Harry to protect him from someone who he has every reason to believe is a mass murderer who wants to kill Harry and has no issues whatsoever with killing innocents to get what he wants. And the arguments he has with Hermione - well, I'd tend to side with Ron, really. Hermione during the first couple months at Hogwarts is... Well, her Really, Really Serious Business approach to the house cup grates. And when Ron ceases to speak with Hermione after Scabbers goes missing, even Hermione _knows_ that all the evidence points to Ron being right, yet she is unable to admit it.

What I'm saying is that Ron, previous to his character deterioration from GoF onwards, was a pretty great person. With flaws, yes - he's always had a vindictive streak and a tendency to act before thinking -, but nonetheless admirable. And while I've written him out of the 'Golden Trio' for the purpose of this AU for no other reason than that I think that a golden trio with Neville instead of Ron may end up being pretty interesting, I've no intention whatsoever to engage in Ron-bashing in this story.

As for Draco popping up with Pansy - well, his family is All The Way Up There (tm), Pansy's a tier below his, I imagine. I didn't think it particularly appropriate for Pansy to go looking for the Girl-Who-Lived on her own, and for that matter, doubt Draco would've let her. Yet stalking the Girl-Who-Lived with Crabbe and Goyle would've sent so many wrong messages - even by wizarding and eleven-year-old-boy standards -, well, that just wouldn't fly.


	4. Of Hats and Houses

**Of Hats and Houses**

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harriet quietly asked Neville after McGonagall had left the small room they were now waiting in, hoping that her question didn't sound too ignorant.

"Don't know," came the rather distracted answer, and Harriet decided to help Neville fixing his cloak before he ended up making it an even worse mess with his fidgeting. He looked grateful. "I've heard some things, but..."

Well, hearing things was something Harriet could do herself, too. Troll wrestling? Nah, that couldn't be true. Or maybe if they were small trolls...? Like reaching to her hip, with small plush clubs, maybe... She could probably wrestle those.

She looked around to where Hermione was standing with two tall boys, a black one and a boy with even redder hair than Harriet's, and listened to her attempt at making small talk in the dense, nervous atmosphere of their small waiting room. "Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

The two boys grimaced at each other. Not that Hermione was noticing. Harriet resolved to explain to her that small talk usually involved letting the other side talk every now and then, too.

Then, out of nowhere, half a dozen of them screamed, making the rest of them jump and stare around, panicking.

About twenty transparent-white things came gliding through the room, seemingly oblivious to the students therein. _Ghosts_, Harriet thought, her panic slowly subsiding as she listened to them - they seemed to be friendly enough.

Then she panicked again when one of the ghosts floated through her. It felt like ice-cold water, not just on her skin but all inside her body, too. She gasped, shivering, and then the ghost was through her and Harriet immediately made up her mind to _never let one of them get near her ever again_.

She barely listened to the ghosts' banter and one of them - he looked like a monk - addressing them. The icy feeling was still lingering inside her, and Neville looked worried at her. "Everything alright?"

"Err, yes, I think so... It's just... You'll find out."

Neville didn't exactly appear reassured.

Just then, they heard McGonagall's sharp voice from the door. "Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Now, form a line, and follow me."

* * *

It took a moment for Harriet to get over her shock at the great hall. Thousands of floating candles provided light under the night sky ("The ceiling's enchanted to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History." Hermione whispered to whoever was close enough to her to hear, though people were catching on by now and made sure _not_ to be too close to Hermione), and below them, four long tables laden with golden goblets and plates and cutlery glittering in the candlelight stretched along the length of the hall, with what must've been hundreds of students sitting at them. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting - although the one familiar face Harriet knew was, of course, with Harriet's fellow first years, and now placing a four-legged stool in front of them, and then one of those pointy wizard hats Harriet still found weird on top of said stool.

It looked rather worn and dirty. Pansy would hate it, Harriet was sure.

Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide, rather like a mouth, and then proved that it was indeed a mouth as the hat began to sing:

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song, and Harriet leaned over to Neville, whispering. "Do all pointy hats do that?"

Neville shook his head, and Harriet wasn't entirely sure whether she should be relieved or disappointed. Having a hat that randomly breaks into song while she was wearing it could definitely be fun. Especially if she wore it at the Dursley's.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

'When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,' she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. It took only a moment:

'HUFFLEPUFF!' shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at their table. Harriet saw the monk-ghost from earlier waving at the girl, and shivered. Maybe ghosts were friendly, but she would pass on touching one of them again anytime soon and preferably ever.

Bones, Susan became a Hufflepuff, too, and Boot, Terry became a Ravenclaw. Brown, Lavender became the first Gryffindor and skipped merrily to the table on the far left, and then Bulstrode, Millicent completed the quartet of houses, becoming the first of Slytherin's new additions.

The sorting continued. When "Finch-Fletchley, Justin" was called up, Harriet recognised the boy she'd first seen on platform nine and three quarters - judging by what she remembered of his parents, he was probably in the same boat as Hermione, being a muggleborn. He became a Hufflepuff - if Hermione had been right about the houses, probably good for him. Maybe Hermione would join him there? And Neville wanted to go there, too... Harriet decided that all of them being in Hufflepuff together would be rather nice.

"Granger, Hermione."

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly over her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Hermione beamed and kept up her almost-running routine as she made her way towards the Gryffindor table that welcomed her with cheery applause and - in the case of two redheaded boys and another boy with dreadlocks sitting together - catcalls.

There went the Hufflepuff plan, though. Harriet felt a twinge of disappointment.

Neville's sorting seemed to take forever, and when the hat finally shouted 'GRYFFINDOR!', Harriet thought he looked slightly unhappy as he made his way towards the table with the hat still on top, McGonagall in hot pursuit of the hat-thief.

Maybe they could all be in Gryffindor instead?

The Malfoy boy Harriet remembered - quite unpleasantly so - from the train swaggered forward as if the world belonged to him (Judging by what Hermione had said about the Malfoys, this probably wasn't far from the truth), and the hat had barely even touched him when it shouted out "SLYTHERIN!" Maybe Hermione had a point with regards to that house, after all.

The Parkinson girl - 'Pansy', Harriet quickly reminded herself - scrunched up her nose before putting on the hat, and likewise made it to Slytherin, which by this point, Harriet figured wasn't exactly a surprise.

Then came a pair of twins, who surprisingly managed to get sorted into different houses, and Harriet could feel her heart beating entirely too fast in her chest, and then-

"Potter, Harriet!"

The hall went quiet.

Or almost quiet, anyway. Stepping forward, Harriet could hear the whispers, and didn't have a hard time imagining what they were about. She briefly contemplated telling the whole hall off in the same way she'd told off Hermione, but quickly decided otherwise - even Draco + Pansy had been intimidating enough to keep her from doing so on the train, and here she was alone, in front of several hundred students...

She gulped, sat down on the stool, and let the hat slide over her glasses.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. 'Difficult. Very difficult. You're definitely loyal - or have the potential to be, anyway. Not many people deserving your loyalty in your life so far. A pity, that. Not afraid of hard work, either, but not exactly seeking it out, are you?"

"I guess," Harriet thought. She also thought the hat was a bit unfair, given the chores she'd had at the Dursley's.

The hat chuckled. "You make a valid point. And you've a pretty good mind, too - all those hours in the school library paid off, didn't they? But something tells me that you did that partly to escape your lamentable conditions at home - I'm not sure you'd be as dedicated as a Ravenclaw in your pursuit of knowledge."

"If you say so," Harriet thought, mentally shrugging. She wasn't entirely clear on where the hat was going with this.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll find out soon."

"Don't you think it's rude to look into people's heads?"

"It is, a bit. But effective. And it's not like I tell anyone about what I'm seeing inside your mind."

"Oh, ok." Now Harriet was feeling silly. She wasn't the first person to get sorted, after all. Not by a long shot.

Another chuckle. "Don't worry. I had to assure Miss Brown that I wouldn't spill the beans on her, either. Your concern does you credit, actually - you're thinking ahead."

If her face hadn't been obscured by the oversized hat, Harriet would've looked very, very pleased by this comment.

"And that, of course, means that there's two houses just about perfect for you. Which one shall it be? Slytherin? It'd-"

"Err, I'd rather not go there. All the people I know are in Gryffindor already." That, and the two Slytherins she'd talked to thus far had been rather unpleasant company. Harriet really didn't like the idea of getting away from the Dursleys just to end up in a dorm with Pansy.

"-help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that. A shark pool, certainly, but one you could do quite well in, I'm sure."

"Do you listen to me at all?"

"I do, but I don't like being interrupted. So not Slytherin, hm? Very well then, that only leaves-"

And the last word was no longer whispered inside Harriet's head, but shouted out loud for everyone in the hall to hear. "GRYFFINDOR!"

The cheer from the Gryffindor table was deafening, and she could see the three boys who'd given Hermione (And Lavender, and the Patil twin who'd come right before Harriet) catcalls shouting "WE GOT POTTER! WE GOT POTTER!" over the crowd.

She sat down next to Neville, who looked a little peaky, and after composing herself and the noise had died down, watched the rest of the sorting. The redhead Hermione had drowned in words earlier turned out to be 'Weasley, Ron' and became a fellow Gryffindor who was quickly welcomed by an unbelievably prim looking boy with the same flaming red hair - Harriet presumed they were related. And Ron's fellow victim of Hermione's verbosity was apparently called 'Zabini, Blaise' and became a Slytherin. Harriet glanced at Hermione, and could see her frown.

She did that a lot, all things considered.

* * *

Dinner had been fantastic, and Harriet could tell that she'd like it here. She'd mostly talked with Neville during it, assuring him that Hedwig didn't eat toads, and listened in on Hermione occupying the entirety of the prim-looking boy - Percy Weasley, apparently, and also apparently a prefect, judging by the half-dozen times he'd mentioned it to Hermione and everyone else who'd be able to hear him - and asking him every question she could think of, which were rather a lot.

Apparently Dumbledore was a genius but also a little bit mad (Hermione had looked almost affronted when Percy had said this, and Harriet wondered whether Percy could be out-prim'd), the goth-looking teacher at the table was apparently called Severus Snape and not someone to trifle with, especially if you were a Gryffindor, though that came naturally with being Slytherin's head of house, and their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was making another point in favour of Harriet's theory that weird headwear was mandatory for wizards.

And then, finally, it was bedtime. Harriet might've hated being regularly sent into her cupboard while still fully awake in the past, but as exhausted as she was now, she was ready to welcome her bed with open arms.

That the four beds in their dorm turned out to be four-posters usually only seen in fairy tales or museums was an added bonus. Lavender actually squealed in delight upon seeing them, and Harriet smiled. She could relate.

* * *

**A/N:** Not exactly happy with this chapter, though on rereading, I suppose it's okay, despite the considerable amount of retreading.


	5. Potions Panic

**Potions Panic**

Hogwarts was... Interesting. Between staircases spontaneously rearranging themselves, rooms switching locations when no-one was looking, doors that weren't, walls that weren't, either, and last but not least the sheer size of the castle that - as Hermione had discovered when reading through her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ - apparently extended to well below the lake and in any case, apparently possessed rooms with permanent extension charms that made Hermione squeal and write to her parents about how a TARDIS was totally possible in the magical world (She'd been somewhat baffled to learn that Harriet had no idea what this was, and Harriet had had to spend some minutes explaining to her that the Dursley's taste in television wasn't quite the British norm. She opted not to mention that she hadn't been allowed to watch TV and only ever caught snippets of sound when cleaning, anyway)...

Well, in summary, it turned out that simply _finding_ their classrooms was an adventure all on its own, and one they quickly learned to make the appropriate time for, at least until they figured out the castle's rearrangement-schedules which Percy assured Hermione existed.

At least the teachers refrained from taking points for being a little late during the first week, though Professor McGonagall was quick to point out that this policy would only last for this one week, and threw stern glances at everyone who was late, anyway.

Astronomy classes made a habit of stealing their sleep, though nobody actually minded, as Professor Sinistra spent some time each lessons explaining the importance of the moon phases for herbology, how planetary alignments affected certain potions, and which constellations were of relevance to the stargazing habits of the centaurs. It was evident that their lessons were to no small part reliant on each other.

Neville almost panicked at the idea. Hermione loved it.

The other 'Dry' subject they had was History of Magic, and sadly, Professor Binns turned out to be somewhat less engaging than Professor Sinistra. On the bright side, it was their first class on Thursday, and a welcome opportunity to catch up on any sleep lost to astronomy, an opportunity just about every student except Hermione and a couple die-hard Ravenclaws cherished, their snores on time with the Professor's monotone lecturing.

Hermione found this somewhat annoying, but with only a quarter of the class awake, opted to bite her lip rather than file a formal complaint, tempted though she had been as she'd told Neville and Harriet later.

Herbology was something all three of the trio immediately enjoyed - Hermione because she apparently enjoyed everything, Neville because Professor Sprout's friendly and supportive demeanour gave him a bit of confidence that Harriet and Hermione had found he tended to lack, and Harriet because years of having to help Aunt Petunia in the Dursley's garden had equipped her with all the basic skills needed - and then Herbology added a certain thrill to the matter by throwing a wide variety of useful, often dangerous, and sometimes talkative plants into the mix, a vast improvement over Aunt Petunia's selection of (Admittedly pretty) flowers arranged according to the recommendations in _Gardening Today_, although Harriet was a bit weirded out when Professor Sprout actually praised her work, rather than scolding her in a shrill voice because she'd cut a millimetre too far or too close or had dropped some dirt during repotting. It was then that Harriet realised just how _different_ Hogwarts really was.

Charms was arguably the most entertaining class they had - Professor Flitwick was tiny, easily excited, always full of energy and eager to teach. Harriet had feared that Charms would be a bit on the dry side - Flitwick had noted that they'd spend the first couple classes going through the theory, and Harriet hadn't exactly read ahead in _Magical Theory_ - but while the class would've preferred more wandwork than they were getting, Flitwick's sense of humour and sheer excitement got them over it quickly enough.

Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall served as a bit of a counterpoint to this - Professor McGonagall maintained a stern demeanour at all times (Though this was probably partly because they shared this class with the Slytherins, and the older Gryffindors had already informed them that there was a bit of a rivalry going on - Professor McGonagall seemed like the kind of person who wanted to nip any kind of problem that could arise from this in the bud. The points Pansy had lost when trying to accost Hermione rather emphasised the point), and the first lesson had made it very clear that this class wouldn't be easy, as Hermione had been the only one to turn her matchsticks into halfway passable needles, and the rest of them was left with rather more homework than they appreciated.

Hermione had spent that day practically bouncing between classes as she'd earned her first points for Gryffindor for this feat.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the class everyone had been looking forward to, but what Harriet had imagined to be a lesson on how wizards duelled each other with mighty spells and gratuitous wandwaving and fire and thunder (And ideally, a tip or two on how to hex Dudley) turned out to be Mr Ludicrous Headgear #3 from the welcome feast lecturing them about how he'd defeated zombies in the Central African Republic in a distracting stutter.

He changed the topic when Hermione asked how a caribbean zombie had made it into the African savannah.

Harriet thought that sending Dudley into the African savannah was a worthy endeavour, and told Hermione as much in between Professor Quirrell's stutters, but Hermione just shook her head as she looked at her textbook and took another note.

At least Neville was sympathetic.

* * *

_Well, at least he's not relying on ludicrous headgear..._ Harriet thought, though Professor Snape's greasy hair suggested that he was the kind of person that'd actually benefit from wearing such, simply as a means to protect everyone else from the not particularly pleasant sight his hair offered the rest of the class - incidentally in stark contrast to the Slytherins in the room, who Harriet had noticed paid a great deal of attention to their looks, hair included. It was almost as if their head of house wished to distance himself from his charges, and he hadn't found a better way to do this than flaunting a certain lack of personal hygiene.

Professor Snape took the register, and Harriet noticed him pausing briefly at her name and glancing over at her for a little bit longer than was strictly necessary before continuing without saying another word. She was used to her Professors reacting... _Oddly_ to her name - Professor Flitwick falling from his stack of books still got her to giggle every time she remembered it -, but this was a little bit outside the starstruck norm.

She'd have considered it pleasant if it hadn't been so ominous, but was kept from thinking about the matter any further on account of their professor beginning the lesson in earnest.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he started. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

_Well, that wasn't very nice, _Harriet thought, and looked at her two friends - Hermione, who was bursting with excitement and barely capable of remaining in her seat, and Neville, who looked flat-out terrified. Admittedly, he did that a lot.

For a moment there was silence, as the Professor looked around the room, his eyes lingering for a brief, yet scary moment on Harriet. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke again.

"Mr Malfoy. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harriet had no idea. Though she _had_ looked at the ingredient lists and what they did. Asphodel... Some sort of calming draught or something like that?

"Draught of the Living Death, sir!"

"Correct. Two points to Slytherin, Mr Malfoy."

_Close enough._

"Granger," Professor Snape said with a sneer. "Where would you find a bezoar, and what is it used for?"

"It's a stone found in the stomach of a goat, and it's used to cure most poisons, whether as an ingredient in potions or administered directly, sir." Hermione beamed as she said this, already adding up the points she'd earned in her head.

Except that Snape didn't feel like she deserved any. Instead, he just continued with Neville. "Longbottom," Neville looked like he wanted to cower under his desk. "What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

"I... Uh..." Harriet could see Neville jittering, and put her hand on top of his, trying to calm him.

"Surely you're capable of human speech, Mr Longbottom?"

The Slytherin side of the room started to snicker collectively. Neville tried for a long, very long moment to talk, and just as Snape opened his mouth again, he finally managed to utter "T- They're the s- same pl- pl- plant, sir."

Snape hesitated for a moment. "A point from Gryffindor for leaving the class waiting, Mr Longbottom."

Neville seemed almost glad at this, happy the attention would no longer be on him. Hermione on the other hand, looked shocked. For her part, Harriet took it in stride - Snape was hardly the first teacher of hers who treated students. She figured that every school had at least one of those. And Percy had warned them that Snape wasn't exactly the most impartial of teachers when it came to Slytherins and Gryffindors in the first place.

Well. Slytherins and anyone else, really.

After this not very promising start, they proceeded to actually brew a potion, which Harriet found she rather liked, Professor Snape's unpleasantness nonwithstanding. It was like cooking with Aunt Petunia - disparaging remarks included, which made it all the more familiar -, except it wasn't for the Dursleys, and crushing snake fangs and boiling poisonously green liquids was _far_ cooler than roasting rump steaks for two human whales.

She'd been paired with Neville (Hermione had been paired up with a pleasant enough boy called Dean Thomas), and they proceeded to brew their potion in amiable silence, Harriet crushing the snake fangs (Neville was still a bit jittery), Neville stirring, Harriet starting the fire, Neville almost putting the porcupine quills into the cauldron before Harriet took it off the fire, Harriet shouting at him not to do it, Neville dropping the porcupine quills all over the floor, the Slytherins snickering, Neville and Harriet picking up their porcupine quills to more snickering, Pansy smacking a Dudley-replica apparently called 'Goyle' over the head and telling him off for managing to repeat Neville's error and melting her cauldron, and finally completing their potion with precisely zero points earned for Gryffindor.

For some reason, Snape had refrained from taking points from Neville for dropping the porcupine quills or from Harriet for shouting, even though Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan had both managed to lose a point for talking. That, at least, was a plus.

And with that, their unpleasant, but at least not outright horrific Friday potions lesson finally ended. Harriet had certainly experienced worse.

Hermione on the other hand, hadn't.

* * *

"What was his problem, for G- Merlin's sake?!" Hermione exclaimed later, as the three were seated together in the Gryffindor common room. Harriet couldn't help but smirk a little at Hermione correcting herself in her never ending quest to appear 'Native' to the wizarding world.

"You heard Percy this morning. Snape just isn't a fair teacher for Gryffindor. Just do your best." Harriet thought this was sound advice - she'd had her fair share of teachers who'd inexplicably given Dudley grades on par with her own despite the... Significant divergence between their respective performances, presumably on account of her Aunt and Uncle's well-placed gifts to their teachers, and was thus quite used to the concept.

"But he can't do that!"

"He just did."

"But... I... But..." Hermione threw her hands up, apparently at a loss of what to be - Livid? Panicked? Just plain confused? "I just don't understand! Maybe I'll talk about this with Professor McGonagall tomorrow... I'm going to bed. Good night."

"Good night," Harriet said, and watched Hermione going upstairs. She wasn't tired yet, though, so she opted to watch the chess game between one of the many redheads in Gryffindor - all of them being Weasleys, as it turned out - and Dean Thomas.

Dean was actually one of the more capable players in Gryffindor, but that was of little help against Ron, who crushed him time and time again, bemoaning the fact that the only player on his level he'd found thus far was a bloody Slytherin.

* * *

**A/N:** Snape reacts differently to a Lily Evans lookalike than to a James Potter lookalike? You don't say.


	6. Winged Lions, Winged Snakes

**Winged Lions, Winged Snakes**

In the end, Harriet settled into life at Hogwarts a lot easier than she'd thought she would - granted, she'd been fairly certain that it'd be better than life with the Dursleys, but it was also a magic school, and she'd had no idea what to expect.

But with fantastic beds, delicious food, and a bunch of reasonably likable Gryffindors to share their time at school with, well, there really wasn't much to complain about. Plot about how to stay in Hogwarts over the summer, yes. Complain, no.

Dean Thomas turned out to be a pretty easygoing fellow who just drifted between people as he pleased, though he was probably best friends with their house's chess prodigy, Ron Weasley, and Seamus Finnigan, the former of whom took a perverse joy in ordering his chess figures towards dismembering their opponents at every opportunity. As he kept winning his games, his pieces were usually pretty enthusiastic about his orders and went cheerfully on their way to slaughter the opposition, while Ron's opponents tended to have to deal with recalcitrant pieces who kept arguing back and forth about every move they were told to enact, usually full of audible disdain for their incompetent player.

Harriet suspected that this was partially to blame for the string of losses most of the lower-years Gryffindors accumulated against Ron, though she was aware of his games against his one 'Worthy Opponent' in the library - apparently the only place where Gryffindors and Slytherins were capable of meeting without hexes being thrown about. Probably because both houses feared the wrath of the librarian, Madam Pince.

She wondered whether they were playing with a different - in particular, a much, much quieter - set when in the library.

Lavender and Parvati shared their dorm with Harriet and Hermione, and were best friends pretty much like Harriet and Hermione, too, though they evidently had different preferences when it came to the things this friendship entailed, if their respective reading choices - _Witch Weekly _vs. _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration - _were anything to go by.

They didn't have too much contact with the upper years beyond simply, well, _seeing_ them in the common room, though there was one, or rather three exceptions, and they were all red-haired.

Percy had been helpful, if a little stiff - at least, that was what Harriet thought. Hermione appeared to consider Percy to be the second coming of Professor McGonagall -, but the twins... Well...

* * *

"Four weeks!" cried Hermione. "A whole month! Four perfect potions, and not a single point earned!"

"You... _Have_ since realised Professor Snape's bias, yes, Hermione?" Harriet said, sounding mildly exasperated. Hermione was pleasant to have around most of the time - Friday afternoons were the exception.

"I don't know what you're complaining about, anyway. He leaves you and Harriet well enough alone. Even your partners are reasonably safe. Knight to D6. Actually, I wish I'd partnered with one of you - would've made potions so much more bearable for me."

Hermione just stared at Ron, who was playing some third-year boy who was desperately struggling to hold his own. "You don't know what I'm complaining about?"

"That's what I was saying, yes. Queen to F7 - check."

"Sn- _Professor_ Snape," Hermione was struggling to make the _Professor_ not sound _too_ spiteful. "Is the first professor I've ever had who simply _ignores_ me! No teacher has ever _ignored_ me! Why is he _ignoring_ me?!"

"Because he's not out trying to make your life miserable as he is to every other Gryffindor? Rook G8 and checkmate."

"You know, Ron has a point," another voice said, as an arm landed on Hermione's shoulder. A second, unrelated arm ended up on Harriet's, who looked somewhere between surprised and put out.

"It takes a great deal of effort for Gryffindors to not raise Snape's ire," another, identical voice said. Harriet had seen and heard Ron's older twins often enough to know it was them even without turning around.

"Or to raise his ire beyond the norm."

"Both are respectable achievements."

"We went for the latter option, of course,"

"But we still respect you achieving the former."

"Just make sure you don't end up like Percy."

"It's just not worth it, you know."

Harriet almost snorted. They did have a point there, though she wasn't altogether confident that Hermione would see it.

"But a teacher shouldn't-" Hermione objected, her voice not showing any signs of calming down. Harriet in the meantime, removed the second twin's arm from her shoulder.

"What a teacher shouldn't-"

"Or what a student shouldn't-"

"You make a valid point there, Fred."

"I know, I know."

"In any case. What teachers or students shouldn't do, and what they actually do, aren't necessarily different things."

Hermione, who'd just gotten rid of George's arm, frowned. "They are when it comes to us."

"For now," Fred replied confidently. "But just remember that if you ever need help with anything,"

"Particularly anything mischievous,"

"We. Wont." Hermione interrupted with great finality. The twins looked unconvinced.

"Not even for the lovely Miss Parkinson?"

"Although I hear her Tarantallegra attempt aimed at you after yesterday's dinner failed."

"Talented like a Bullstrode."

"Or a Flint."

"Out of curiosity," Harriet interrupted at this point, although she was plenty entertained by the whole exchange. "I've been meaning to ask... Are you _sure_ you're not Ron and Percy's half-brothers? You seem so... Different."

The twins stared at Harriet, mouths agape. So was Ron. And Hermione, who Harriet could tell was silently forming the word 'HARRIET!' in capital letters with her mouth. Fred was the first to regain his power of speech.

"Actually, this has occurred to us before..."

"But the other way around."

"Percy is very, very different from us..."

"And from Bill and Charlie,"

"Our older brothers."

"But we never asked mum about it, of course."

"Yes. We enjoy actually having buttocks."

"Which wouldn't be a given if we asked mum this."

"Merlin knows they've had their fair share of attention from mum already."

"And it wasn't altogether healthy, let me tell you."

"They'd look like one of Snape's potions if we ever asked her about Percy's true parentage."

"After we've added a few extraneous but colourful ingredients, of course."

"But sadly, we've no time left for this conversation."

"Mischief has to be managed and all that."

"But we'll be in contact."

"We'll be seeing you!"

And then the twins left, arm in arm, and singing the kind of song that a thirteen-year old was not, technically speaking, supposed to know.

Hermione kept up her scandalised expression, though she did manage to keep her mouth shut. Ron was already concentrating on his next game - Harriet reckoned that her insinuation wasn't actually all that special from his point of view, what with actually growing up with the twins. He was definitely made from sterner stuff than Hermione.

Speaking of Hermione, she was now glaring at Harriet.

"Hey, they're not my fault."

"And probably not even dad's. Pawn E5."

* * *

Flying lessons had been announced a week ago, and even the fact that they were going to have their first lesson with the Slytherins couldn't reign in the Gryffindor first years' excitement, though it was coupled with a healthy dose of nervousness from their muggleborns, who'd yet to acquire any kind of flying experience whatsoever - a problem the Slytherins didn't have.

Ron, who turned out to be almost as obsessive about Quidditch as he was about chess - an odd combination, Harriet thought - had been helpful enough to give her, Hermione and Dean Thomas some pointers, though he also threatened to strangle Hermione if she were to quote _Quidditch through the Ages_ at him one more time, and that she should keep her bloody mouth shut about her flying tips when she'd never actually _flown_.

Privately, Harriet thought he'd a point, though she and Dean Thomas were smart enough not to tell Hermione this in quite such blunt terms. For her part, Hermione huffed, told Ron to mind his language, and refused to talk to Ron again until the flying lessons finally started, allegedly because she objected to his 'Foul form of verbal expression', though judging by the giggles she received for this declaration, nobody actually believed her.

When the day finally came, everyone was suffering from a bad case of butterflies in their stomachs, Hermione to the point where she actually stopped re-reading _Quidditch through the Ages_, which caused Harriet, Dean Thomas and Neville - who was just as nervous as them despite having grown up in a wizarding household. Not that Harriet was particularly surprised by this. It was Neville, after all - to exchange worried glances.

It was a fairly warm afternoon in early October when the first years of Gryffindor and Slytherin assembled, the school's worn brooms by their sides, and their flying instructor, Madam Hooch - 'Like the German word for high!' Hermione exclaimed. Not that anyone was listening - standing before them, her hawkish, yellow eyes looking them over.

Much to Hermione's dismay, Madam Hooch didn't particularly believe in flying theory.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, 'Up!'"

Everyone did so. Harriet's broom jumped straight into her hand, though most others refused to do so. Neville's simply kept lying on the ground, and Hermione's gave a shudder, though it finally reacted when she shouted at it a second time. Malfoy's reacted almost as fast as Harriet's, and Ron's slowly floated upwards while he scowled at it, an action Pansy's own broom emulated, though she did at least pretend that this was intentional and how a 'Lady' picked up a broom.

Madam Hooch then went through the group and corrected their grips, and finally...

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

And then Neville was in the air, rising rapidly, panicking, and evidently not hearing Madam Hooch's shouted instructions to keep hold of the broom and himself.

Harriet didn't need to think twice. She kicked off the ground - it was the most wonderful feeling in the world, she reflected, before once again concentrating on Neville, banishing Madam Hooch's voice and the Slytherin's snickering to the back of her mind -, trying to catch up before Neville let go of his broom as it rose in an ever steeper angle, until he couldn't hold-

Harriet stretched out her hand and caught Neville's arm, immediately feeling his weight dragging her down. She tried frantically to control the angle, to make it a soft landing, or something that could pass as one, catching a glimpse of Neville's own broom falling to the ground, seeing herself and Neville doing the same, trying to recall what Madam Hooch had said about how to control the broom, even trying to recall what Hermione had recited from _Quidditch through the Ages_, and tried to brake and flatten her angle...

And then she felt her feet on the ground again, and realised that she hadn't been breathing, and felt the adrenaline in her bloodstream... And then the Gryffindors were all around her and Neville, and then there was Madam Hooch, scolding her and Neville, but determining that Neville wasn't injured.

* * *

"Thank G- Merlin nothing's happened!"

"Yeah..." Harriet grinned at Hermione, who was floating next to Ron, some ten feet off the ground, which was as high as Hermione was willing to go.

Ron turned out to be more appreciative. "That was your first time flying?"

"Yeah..."

He grinned. "Entirely monosyllabic, I see." Then his face darkened. "And here come the Snakes..."

Harriet turned around. She knew Ron didn't mind _one_ particular snake, but Blaise Zabini wasn't in the group that came flying towards them. Madam Hooch was a little bit off with Neville and Dean Thomas, trying to teach them basic broom control, and here she, Hermione and Ron were, having to deal with Pansy and Draco.

"What do you want?" she asked, aggravated - she hadn't found their snickering funny when Neville had almost fallen off his broom from some thirty feet up.

"We've just seen you flying, Harriet," Pansy answered, trying her best to hide a sneer. Draco wasn't, he was sneering openly. Harriet wondered whether he got private sneering lessons from Snape - it was certainly possible. "And we were wondering if you would be up for a race. Through all six goal hoops and back here."

"The bloodtraitor's invited, too," Draco said, still practicing his sneer, though Harriet noticed that Pansy was looking at him in a rather annoyed fashion. "I'm guessing your pet mudblood," another expert sneer. Snape's private lessons were paying off. "Isn't quite ready for it yet."

"Deal," Harriet said, scowling. Ron nodded, too. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Draco.

"And here I thought you were lacking balls. Oh wait, you do," Draco sneered once more, or tried to, anyway. Pansy just rubbed her forehead - she wasn't exactly pleased to be in the presence of a mudblood and a blood traitor, either, but she knew better than to use the kind of humour Crabbe or Goyle would find funny. Draco really needed better friends... "Go!"

Everyone but Draco was surprised as he swerved his broom around and started the race. Harriet reacted the fastest, pushing herself forward and leaning on her broom to become as arrow-like as she could be. Pansy and Ron were the last ones to react, and Ron quickly overtook Pansy.

The first goal hoop came up, and Draco curved through it rather more elegantly than his crude language would've suggested he could, with Harriet hard on his heels, feeling her robe brushing past the goal hoop.

Her next curve was flown tighter and she was getting closer, while Draco was flying almost leisurely, evidently unaware of how close Harriet was to him. Ron was a distant third, and Pansy dead last, though it seemed like she didn't actually care all that much about the race, even though she made token attempts to at least take over the blood traitor.

Past the third goal hoop and Draco was still first, though now there was a wide open stretch with no obstacles in the way - and it showed, as Draco was starting to increase his lead again. Harriet let out a few choice words she knew fully well Hermione would scold her for if she ever heard them.

None of them looked below, none of them paid attention to the pointing and shouting and Madam Hooch's hawkish eyes following their race.

Then came the fourth goal hoop, and Draco was through, and Harriet right after him, and a tight curve...

And the fifth one was passed and now Harriet had the advantage of curving inside Draco, whose brief burst of speed had cost him this advantage, and there was the sixth and then Harriet was in the lead, robes now fluttering wildly as she was no longer in Draco's wake.

Harriet didn't look back, though she would've loved to see Draco's face in this moment. Now all over the Quidditch pitch again... She made herself as small as she could, knowing fully well from their first flyover that Draco's broom was faster, and tried desperately to defend her lead, flying straight for the other first years. She could almost feel Draco's breath in her neck, could almost sense him overtaking her...

And then she saw her fellow Gryffindors, much closer now, saw Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas cheering her, saw Neville next to them, looking at her, wide-eyed, as she closed in on them, saw him drop his Remembrall and trying frantically to get out of her way, and Harriet laughed - as if she'd ram him! - and dived for his Remembrall.

* * *

"You're insane, Harriet!" Hermione almost shouted. Harriet just grinned at her, still enjoying the high that winning the race had given her. "This was your first time on a broom, and you fly a race?! You could've crashed against the goal hoops, your broom's braking charms could've malfunctioned and you could've ended up dead, or Madam Hooch could've expelled you-"

"Yes, but she didn't, did she?" Ron commented. He was rather miffed that Draco had beaten him, and had come back to the common room earlier than usual - Harriet suspected that Blaise had teased him about his loss to the Malfoy boy.

"Not yet! But I'm sure she's told Professor McGonagall! Oh Harriet..." Hermione wailed.

"She did catch my Remembrall. That was pretty nice of her." Neville said reasonably.

"As if you'd have dropped it if she hadn't been heading for you at fifty miles per hour!"

That was a valid point, and neither Harriet nor Neville were denying it, though both thought that seeing the Slytherin's faces after the race had been well worth it. Well, maybe not if Harriet really ended up expelled...

Speaking of which, the hole to the Gryffindor common room opened up to let in a somewhat uncommon guest - Professor McGonagall herself.

"Miss Potter?"

Harriet rose slowly, her feelings of triumph suddenly replaced with trepidation. In hindsight, beating Draco and Pansy probably hadn't been worth it.

"Please follow me to my office. Mr Weasley?"

Three fire-red heads perked up. "Percy is monitoring the halls, Professor."

"Percy's Proud Prefect duties, I hear."

McGonagall eyed the twins. "You'll do. Fetch Oliver Wood and send him to my office, too, please."

**A/N:** Yes, I know, Dean Thomas isn't actually muggleborn. But at this point nobody knows any better, and besides, it doesn't change his upbringing one bit.

I was aiming for a four-chapter update, but writing the next one is turning out to be more difficult than I thought. Meh.

Also, it causes me physical pain to use non-SI units.


End file.
